


Super-Freak

by SaltAndBurn (AlyssiaInWonderland)



Category: Supernatural, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Awkward Flirting, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Logan, Brother Feels, Don’t copy to another site, Empath, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mind Control, Mutant Powers, Psychic Abilities, Repressed Dean Winchester, Telekinesis, Telepathy, pyrokinesis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:32:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/SaltAndBurn
Summary: When Dean was seventeen, John's hatred of mutants, including Sammy, became more than Dean could protect him from. Dean smuggled Sammy to Bobby, and Xavier's Academy, and never saw him again.Four years later, John has died and Dean is free to find his brother. Bobby tells him a mysterious man named Logan will be able to help him find the Academy and his brother.This is Dean travelling to find his Sammy, and hopefully to find a way to manage and control his own, recently realised, powers.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean’s not used to being the freak.

The men at the bar, crowded round the mutant fights, they all make it clear what they think of him and his scruffy appearance.

It’s not fair, he reflects, mulishly. He’s about the same kind of dishevelled and poverty-beaten as the rest of the men. But something marks him as different, so they stare and mutter and don’t offer any help.

He wonders if this is how Sammy always felt.

He’s loath to draw further attention, because he doesn’t want to be a target, and a lost, lonely adult, even one as obviously built for combat as him, is a mark his old self would never have passed up. But he needs to find someone, and he doesn’t think he could identify the man on sight, because the photo is from years ago.

Then he sees him. Despite the years that have passed since his Uncle Bobby took the picture, that build, that hair, even the same leather jacket is unmistakable.

He walks up to the bar, confidence finally filling his steps again, and leans on the counter to introduce himself.

“Hey, man. You’re, uh, Logan, right? I’m Dean. I’m looking for Xavier’s Academy, and I was told you’d be the person to ask?”

The man turns and gives him a blank, dead-eyed glare. It’s not the most encouraging of responses, but Dean smiles his most charming smile in any case.

“Anyone ever tell you you don’t age well?” Dean laughs a little to himself. “The photo I had was from, like, five years ago, and you look exactly the same.” It’s not easy to sweep someone up in your charisma when they’re downing a shot of whiskey, but Dean really needs this guy to like him.

Logan slams the glass onto the stone hard enough Dean has to suppress a flinch. The sound brings back too many memories, but he grits his teeth and waits for Logan’s response.

“Go fuck yourself.” His voice is gruff, rasped out by the whiskey, and the sarcastic tilt to his words suggest a man used to people respecting his rebuffals. Dean doesn’t blame them. He’s intimidating. But Dean’s made of sturdier stuff, and he won’t just accept it, he’s got a little brother to find and powers to learn to control and -

“Fuck me yourself, you coward!” Dean’s eyes widen and he clamps his mouth shut in horror. He looks around, and he’s not sure if it’s to check for a demon that clearly took over his mouth, or for eavesdroppers who might beat him up for propositioning a dude. Neither are present, and Logan is staring at him in blatant shock that, to his relief, rapidly turns into amusement.

“What?” Logan sounds like he knows exactly what Dean just said. That smirk should be - well, it probably is illegal, everything about the man is, because according to Bobby he’s a mutant and knows the location of the Academy Sammy’s been hiding out in since John-

“What?” Dean retorts, defensively. Not his best line, but the circumstances are more than a little extenuating.

“Listen, kid-” Logan begins, and Dean cuts him off.

“Look, forget what I just said. But I need to find that place. Seriously. And Bobby said you were good to ask.” Dean runs a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, making it stick up in little tufts of dirty blond-brown. He looks up at Logan, and he’s almost positive he’s being laughed at.

“I don’t know,” Logan says, consideringly, lingering on every word. “I don’t think I want to forget the whole fucking thing.” His eyes sweep up and down Dean’s body, taking in everything from his messy hair to his scuffed up boots, and Dean feels himself flushing under the scrutiny. 

Logan’s grin is lazy and satisfied, and it does things to Dean he’d really rather not think about in a public space, thanks, but apparently his brain has entirely lost it’s filter and control. He imagines Logan wrapping his hand around the back of his neck, using those clearly defined, muscled arms to pull him in and slam him against the counter. 

He licks his lips, teeth tugging at the lower one as he tries to get his unruly libido under control. He thinks Logan’s body would feel good against his. He’s got that look about him, that slightly dangerous vibe Dean never knows if he seeks to emulate because he wants to be someone like that or be  _ with _ someone like that. It’s probably both, with a casual side-helping of unhealthy narcissism.

Logan’s looking at him expectantly, and Dean blinks at him slowly.

“What?” Dean feels so far beyond eloquent it’s not even funny.

“I don’t go by Logan anymore.” He grins, and the expression is feral in a way that doesn’t help Dean’s concentration in the slightest. “It’s Wolverine now.” He gestures to the cage fights.

“You fight in there?” Dean doesn’t want to sound shocked, or like he’s not tough, because he’s heard of this, hell, he’s done it himself a few times, but that was way back, and he’s tried his best to repress it. “Like, by choice?”

Wolverine shakes his head, but it isn’t exactly in response, it’s more exasperated.

“It’s more complicated than that, kid. If you’re looking for the Academy, you should know that.” Wolverine grabs his jacket, and then Dean’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here, before the crowd turns ugly.”   
  
Dean abruptly realises that their interaction has drawn the attention of almost the entire bar.

“Shit.” Dean lets himself be dragged outside.

“Yeah, you better run! Freaks!” Some anonymous asshole shouts after them at the last minute, and Dean clenches his fists tight and bites his lip so hard it starts bleeding.

Wolverine shoves Dean forwards.

“You got a ride, kid? Ain’t got my own right now.” Wolverine’s voice has dropped several registers in his urgency, but Dean’s not quite in a state to enjoy it.

“Yeah, I got her.” Dean unlocks his Baby and Wolverine invites himself easily into the passenger seat.

“Head south outta here. Before they pick a fight they’re gonna lose.” Wolverine growls out the words, and his eyes are firmly closed, like every second of control is costing him.

Dean makes an aborted move to reach out to him, and flinches back when Wolverine’s eyes flick instantly open. Instead, he pulls out of the gravel park, wincing as the fast movement flicks stones up under his Baby’s carriage, and heads south.

After a minute, Dean starts to relax, and Wolverine looks like he’s got back some semblance of calm.

“Sorry about that, man. Didn’t mean to ambush you into the spotlight.” Dean takes one hand off the wheel to tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. He only realises he’s done that when he notices Wolverine watching curiously. He puts his hand back on the wheel hastily.

“If I minded, you wouldn’t have got this far.” Wolverine shrugs. “So. Bobby?”

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Bobby’s a family friend. Well,” He amends. “For me and Sammy. Not - not our Dad.”   
  
“Well I guess it’s good you don’t have super-strength.” Wolverine says, dryly, and Dean realises he’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white.

“What makes you think I got anything?” Dean doesn’t mean to sound so offended. Wolverine either hasn’t noticed, or hasn’t cared. “Could be I’m just looking for my freak brother. Could be I’m just trying to cause trouble.”

“Sure.” The man shrugs, and Dean feels him staring even as he keeps his eyes on the road. Though, for someone supposedly suspicious by nature, Wolverine seems weirdly calm.

“So,” Dean starts talking to fill the silence, his sense of anxiety increasing steadily until he just knows he’s going to say something stupid. “No offence or anything, man, this is just me putting it out there, but I can’t help but notice you. I mean, notice that uh, well. You don’t talk that much?” Dean winces. He sounds like an idiot, even to himself. And Wolverine is still half laughing at him, the suave bastard.

“You seem to fill the silence without my help.” Wolverine is still watching Dean, and it’s making him uneasy, because he genuinely can’t figure out any of his tells.

“Once, in flight school, I was laconic!” He hears how perky his tone is. It’s not natural. Wolverine’s powers, hell, Bobby explained them, but he can’t help but wonder if there’s also some kind of aura of confusion manifestation somewhere in the healing and the claws.

“And now you’re making pop culture references to avoid awkwardness. Still wondering why I don’t figure you for a cold-blooded mutant-hater?”   
  
“I think there was a compliment hidden in there somewhere.” Dean remarks. “Still. It’s risky to trust me.”   
  
“There’s also the fact Xavier could quite literally kill you with his brain.” Wolverine adds this thought quite casually.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Dean says, weakly. He swallows, hard. “Man, this shit is so surreal. Did - did you just quote? Is that what’s happening right now?”

“Guess so.” Wolverine confirms.

“Huh.” Dean licks his lips, stares at the road.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Or rather, Dean’s uncomfortable and Wolverine just sits there, his eyes roaming from scenery to Dean and back lazily.

The fact Wolverine is completely calm is utterly unfair.

Dean starts to drum his fingers on the steering wheel, and freezes when Wolverine glares at him. He subsides, and the quiet is excruciating.

He grabs a tape - any music will do - and feeds it into the cassette player blindly.

He gets the first two bars of ‘Highway To Hell’ before Wolverine’s ejected the tape, growling, and hurled it onto the backseat.

“Hey! That’s a good song! The hell, man?” Dean forgets to be scared, reaches out to knock Wolverine’s hand out of the way, and instantly backs off.

He cuffs his hands into his sleeves and grips the wheel again, tightly. He hopes he looks closed-off enough that Wolverine won’t-

“Look, I ain’t a fan of loud music. My ears are sensitive.” Wolverine doesn’t seem confrontational. Maybe he isn’t going to inspect Dean’s reaction to almost touching him.

“Huh. Well, you could have just said so, man.” Dean relaxes incrementally, shifting down a little in his seat.

“What I did was quicker.”   
  
“Yeah well, this is my ride, Log- uh, Wolverine. You don’t get to just toss my tapes around, claws or no.” Half of Dean is horrified that he’s delivering this so firmly, and the rest is cheering at managing to give a hot, scary guy with literal claws an ultimatum.

“I knew you had some fight in you!” Wolverine grins, reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Dean instantly grabs his leather-covered arm to prevent their touching. Shit. He’s not gonna be able to pass this one off as fear.

“You ain’t gonna touch me.” Dean’s voice is remarkably steady given how he feels.

“Okay then.” Wolverine backs off far more easily than Dean was expecting. Dean looks askance at him, and Wolverine just shrugs. “Last time someone had a touch aversion, it was because she drained whatever she touched. I’m not messing with odds like that again if I can help it.”

“Damn, that’s rough.” Dean’s been so preoccupied thinking about his own mutation, and Sammy’s, that he’s almost forgotten how some people have it. He and Sammy, and Wolverine, have kind of an okay deal compared to that chick.

“Yeah, well. We can’t all have claws and a dark backstory.” Wolverine smirks. “Besides, she’s okay. Has a boyfriend who keeps trying to outdo me. She’s way too young for me, but the kid has spirit, and I really would destroy him if he hurts her, so I guess it all worked out fine.”

“Huh.” Dean considers the road, trying to calm himself, because he’s started shaking. 

He takes the turning Wolverine indicates, and they keep driving.

“So this school, it really is a good place? Even for people with - with destructive powers?” Dean tries to sound calm, but he likely doesn’t succeed.

“Yes.” Wolverine’s a confusing mismatch of gentle and terrifying. Not to mention how Dean’s response to him keeps ricocheting between arousal, comfort and fear. “Who are you asking that for, Dean? You, or your kid brother?”

Dean coughs, because otherwise he’d have given a distinctly unmanly yelp.

“Look. Sammy’s fine, he’s a good kid. I - well, when he got his powers, I took him to Bobby and waved him goodbye. And I trust Bobby, I do, but - I wanted to know what to expect. A school, with books and all that crap, keeping him safe, or isolation wards and keeping everyone else safe from him.”

“Dr. Xavier wouldn’t turn away any mutant in need. Uncontrolled powers are dangerous - but that’s what they specialise in. Helping control their powers and getting them better equipped to have a normal life.” Wolverine sounds like he’s heard those lines before, has an air of reciting them, and somehow it’s comforting that it’s a well-known summary. “How much earlier did he come through?”

Dean starts tapping on the steering wheel again, and this time Wolverine doesn’t try and stop him. He just watches, curious until Dean feels able to speak.

“Four years.” Dean’s voice is hoarse with emotion.

“I’m sorry, did you just say four years?” Wolverine’s presence has turned somewhat threatening, and it’s categorically messed up that Dean still finds him hot.   
  
“Yeah.” Dean flinches at the accusation in Wolverine’s tone.

“How do you know he’s still at the school - how old was he when-”   
  
“He was thirteen. He’s still school age. I figured he’d either have stayed put, or escaped and it would be a good headstart to finding him.” Dean hates having to be so open about how fucked up the situation is.

“And why are you hunting for him now? What’s so special about today, after all those years?”

“He - our Dad. He died.”   
  
“And you’re coming to take him back for the funeral?”   
  
“Hell no. I’m here because our fucking father can’t follow me anymore.”

“No love lost?”   
  
“He blamed the mutant who set fire to our house for my mother’s death. Then, when Sammy got his powers, he blamed Sammy.” Dean shrugs. “He wasn’t all bad, but didn’t do crap for Sammy. Bobby helped us more than he ever did.”

Wolverine gives Dean a long, calculating look. Dean gets the feeling he’s being assessed, yet again. He’s never been measured so many times in ways he’s not sure he’ll measure up. It’s like school all over again.

“Okay.” Wolverine nods, tersely, and that’s that, apparently. He settles back, and sighs. “Got any more backstory I gotta know about, kid?”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Do you  _ want _ me to not trust you?” Wolverine raises an eyebrow.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Dean coughs, and focuses on the road, valiantly ignoring his blush. “But I ain’t a kid, dude. I’m, like, twenty-one.”

“And I’m almost four times your age. Probably.”

“Well,” Dean ignores the enticingly vague ‘probably’ and attempts to not make himself into a complete idiot - not that he’s succeeded so far, but a man’s gotta try. “You’re looking good for it, man.” He grins. He can do this; flirting, he  _ is _ good at.

“Trust me, there’s a price.” Wolverine’s voice sounds weary.

“Yeah. There always is.” Dean hopes his voice doesn’t sound too hoarse.

They sit in silence again for a while, Wolverine speaking up only when they need to make turnings. This time, it’s far less excruciating to be quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

When they arrive at the school, Dean’s so busy being stunned by the size of the place that he forgets to be intimidated. He whistles under his breath.

“Damn, man. This is a freaking palace!”

“It’s got a good amount of space.” Wolverine agrees, equitably.

Dean doesn’t bother to roll his eyes at the understatement. Instead, he wonders if Sammy liked it here; he’s always liked having space to run. The grounds look like they might even satisfy his unrelenting energy.

“So, what, do I just go inside?” Dean parks the Impala outside the main doors, as directed, and looks to Wolverine for guidance.

“Pretty sure we’ll be greeted soon, just give it -” Wolverine pauses, because he’s interrupted by a voice that seemingly comes from nowhere, direct into Dean’s brain.

_ “Welcome, Dean. It will be good to finally meet you; your brother admires you greatly.” _

“S-sammy?” Dean stammers, out loud. “What the - okay so this is what you meant by the brain comment?” Dean swallows nervously as Wolverine nods, and the voice’s laughter echoes through his mind.

_ “I mean you no harm. Please, come in. Wolverine can lead you to my office.” _

Dean follows Wolverine through the large doors in a daze of distant terror. He’s shaking, opening and clenching his fists at his sides to keep in control. He’s closer than he’s been to his brother for four entire years. He’s almost overwhelmed.

Eventually, Wolverine knocks on a heavy wooden door, and he hears the same voice from before, but this time outside his head.

“Enter.” The voice is gentle, good-humoured, but Dean obeys it instinctively.

Dean steps inside the office, eyes darting around to take in the neat shelves, the noticeably old, rich upholstery. It’s the kind of environment Dean’s always felt uncomfortable in, because he and his rough edges don’t belong somewhere so silky-smooth and monied.

Wolverine shuts the door behind him, leaving him alone in the office, and he fights to not look back with betrayal.

Behind the polished desk sits a man, bald and smiling kindly. He’s assured; the sort that comes from a lifetime of power and control. Despite that, he exudes trustworthiness. This, more than anything else, sets Dean on edge. He’s not paranoid, but he is wary of people, and especially those who generate the twist of obedience and loyalty he’s being swept up by.

He touches his amulet, and squares his shoulders.

“Professor Xavier, Sir?”

“Please, sit down.” Professor Xavier gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, and Dean sits cautiously. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to see my -” Dean clears his throat. “To see Sam Winchester. He’s been going here for four years now.”

“Yes, he has.” Professor Xavier sighs, and leans forward in his seat. Dean tenses automatically. “In those four years, it has been proven without a doubt that Samuel is...exceptional. His powers are strong, but now controlled; harnessed. I know you fear power, Dean. You stayed away for four years. What makes today any different to the others that passed without coming to see your brother?”

“My father is dead.” Xavier wants him to elaborate. Dean feels the compulsion to add to his statement, crawling over his skin, burning his lips with the truth tingling at the tip of his tongue. “Sir.” He adds, because he needs to speak.

“But that’s not all, is it?” Professor Xavier’s voice is coaxing, soft and heavy with the desire for information, knowledge and assurance from Dean that he isn’t dangerous. It’s interesting, because it’s becoming rapidly obvious that even though Xavier clearly could just take what he wants from Dean, he wants Dean to want to give it to him. Dean hates that more than force.

“No.” Dean sounds terse, angry, but he can’t help it. The pressure of Xavier’s mind, his wanting Dean to want to spill his soul, is overwhelming. Psychics overload him so easily; no need for touch before he’s a wreck, and Xavier is more powerful than anyone he’s met besides Sammy. He’s no match for it. He crumples like metal in a car crash.

Dean slides to the floor, the carpet harsh on his hands. His head is pounding with needing to trust Xavier, and he bites his lip hard so the sting of pain will keep the words in.

“Dean? Please, let me-” Xavier’s mental presence is loaded with concern-trust-me-tell-me-fear-unknown-

“Stop!” Dean pushes away with his hands, useless against the clear air holding Xavier’s mind. “Quit wanting things from me! You’re worrying so freaking loudly, stop it!”

Abruptly, Xavier’s presence withdraws from Dean’s and he can breathe again.

“You can feel my mind?” Xavier pours out some water and pushes it across the desk, lets Dean gather himself up and sit on the chair again. Dean clutches the water, feels the beds of condensation on it, but he doesn’t drink. He looks at his left palm; there’s an imprint of his amulet on it, from clutching it so hard as he curled up on the floor. Dean flushes in humiliation at his weakness.

“Yeah.” He sounds hoarse, like he’s chain-smoked, or drunk ten shots of whiskey, and abruptly he craves the mental numbness alcohol can give him.

“I have been informed by others that my mental presence can be soothing in times of stress. I promise you, I did not intend to overwhelm or compel you.” Xavier explains this, still calm, and this time Dean can only feel the concern in his tone, not his mind.

“Nobody ever intends it, man. You didn’t know. Hell, you’d only have known if you stripped it from my brain, and then you’d probably not give a damn anyway.”

“I assume this is related to your reason for coming now, and for your aversion to touch?” Xavier asks. The lack of need to reply is so comforting Dean responds almost without thought.

“I found out too late for it to make much difference. But it weren’t just Sammy who got powers.” He explains, tiredly. “And if you think Sammy’s are weird?” He laughs, self-deprecating and a little bit self-hating too. “Mine are screwed to hell.”

Professor Xavier is silent, though he raises an eyebrow. Even without the mental connection Dean can tell he’s fighting the urge to make a reproving remark.

“Sam...far as I can tell, kid’s got the lot. Telepathy, telekinesis, premonitions, the whole psychic mojo shebang. Me? I got the ones that ain’t so easy to notice.” Dean runs a hand through his hair distractedly. “Guess you noticed the empath one, for a start.”   
  
“That did not seem to be something as simple as empathy. Does psychic presence cause you pain? You appear sensitive to telepathy.” Professor Xavier seems about as curious as he is concerned, and Dean’s lips twist in a wry smile at that. For once, he’s the one people want to pick apart and examine under a microscope.

“Right,” He confirms, and looks away from Xavier as he speaks. “I touch someone, I get a read of their state, of what they want from me. Telepaths, I get the link direct without touch, usually. And what they want from me? I do it. Don’t matter if it’s beyond the realms of possibility, if it’s something I want or not. I do it, or I fight it until I can’t no more.” He laughs bitterly. “Some ass-backwards power, huh?”

“Dean,” Professor Xavier sounds far too understanding for Dean’s taste. “That must be difficult.”

Dean shrugs uncomfortably.

“That amulet around your neck?” Xavier prompts, and Dean sighs.

“Sammy gave it to me. It...it helps me keep my own mind. With it, I don’t get so lost. I’ve always needed it, to set me straight. Never did realise why.” Dean’s holding it’s comforting weight again, just the act of talking about it unsettling him until he’s got it in his palm.

“I’m not here to interrogate you on your powers; if you wish, we can discuss how best to manage them. The obvious solution is to avoid touch; another might be training in developing psychic shields. However, you mentioned powers, not just one.” Professor Xavier’s seeming confidence that they could actually get a handle on Dean’s wayward empathy-based power is beyond relieving. Dean licks his lips nervously.

“Always thought everyone else sucked at lighters and matches. Turns out I just got good easier than other people. Fire likes me. Which sucks ass, for the record, because I sure as hell don’t like fire. Dad - he hated the stuff. So.” Dean waves the thought off, jerkily. “I ain’t here for me, not mainly. How is Sammy?”

“Pyrokinesis and empathy-based situational adaptation. Remarkable.” Professor Xavier mutters, softly. Then he meets Dean’s eyes and raises his voice, smiling with his eyes. “Your brother is an exceptional student. He’s shortlisted for a high-profile Law programme, if he keeps up his grades.” Xavier sounds proud, which clenches at Dean’s heart painfully. “In addition to the telepathy, telekinesis and premonitions, he had latent teleportation and ergokinesis, which are both developing in a controlled environment.”

“Ergo-what now?” Dean blinks, uncomprehendingly.

“Energy manipulation, in short.” Professor Xavier explains, easily. He lacks the harsh judgement Dean has been expecting and waiting for since he set foot in the grounds of this plush mansion.

“Huh.” Dean grins. “Little fucker always did like to mess with the lights. Guess that’s changed now he’d get into actual trouble for it.”   
  
“Would you like to meet him?” The question is mild, but it sucks the air right out of Dean’s lungs.

Part of him is clamouring to get even a glimpse of Sammy. The rest is freaking terrified. He presses his lips together, firmly resolute.

“Yeah.” Dean has absolutely no idea how this is going to go.

“He’s waiting outside the door. He sensed your mind approach, well before I did myself. I asked him to give us some time for you to settle, after your long journey.” Professor Xavier is talking like he’s some kind of child to be coddled, which rankles even as it’s useful.

“Okay then,” Dean says, standing up and turning to the door. “Let’s do this.”

The Professor nods, and then the door is opening, and Dean’s about to see Sammy for the first time in four years.

The amulet is heavy on his chest.

Here goes freaking nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this is enjoyable! :D It started out as basically an excuse to have Dean & Wolverine flirt and then it grew a plot without my say-so.
> 
> As ever, comments and kudos feed my dark soul and win my eternal gratitude! <333


End file.
